I have but moments before the car arrives to take me and one embarrassingly large piece of luggage to Heathrow – Seoul, here I come, start heating up the food. I’m putting this up right before I run out because, if I know my mother correctly, she will compose a short but powerful message on Whatsapp reading something along the lines of those broken jeans in your blog better not be coming with you to Seoul and this time I can be all aw but I’m already in the car. No. Don’t worry ma, I’m fully anticipating to go up a dress size or even two on this trip, I’ve basically packed fifty variations of sweatpants. (엄마 청바지 꼬메지 말아쥬쎄요ㅠ) Plus, after road-testing the jeans in London and finding out getting a sore throat thanks to cold wind through the knee-holes is the very definition of irony, I’ve decided to leave it out of the packing.

On a side note, I know I’ve put this up on Facebook already but I’d really love to get some recommendations of places in Seoul – I’ve never lived there properly and the only places I know are basically the Big Ben equivalents so please do help this hipster out if you can.

O hai

I’ve decided to take the Saruman approach over the past menswear fashion weeks (London, Pitti, Milan, Paris) and have allocated eyes and ears to spy on distant lands while I sit in my tower in a big white (bath) robe. Here’s some of my picks from Milan, shot by one of my favourite streetstyle photographers who I was lucky to be able to commission, Jin Oh (who might remember, also shot this with me). I won’t lie, I was positively aching at the fact that I had volunteered to miss out on all this cute boys (and girls) action… Oh well, will have to put a ribbon in le husband’s hair this evening and make do.

A happening in Pittsburgh, PA (I know right?)

Photo by Cup of Couple

Yonks ago – September last year to be exact – I woke up in a truly irregular setting: Pittsburgh, USA. Kidneys, did I have them? Both fine. I ordered up some breakfast room service, and got dressed to join the rest of the equally puzzled crew down in the lobby. We were going to see a train – one inhabited by artists, musicians and their various instruments – that had arrived at Penn Union Station the night before. Brought together by Levi’s, curated by artist Doug Aitkin, this train (an assortment of vintage carriages dating back to 1914) had originated from New York and over the course of 3 weeks was to travel through the country to the West coast, dropping off and picking up creatives on its way, putting on festivals in celebration of art, street culture, music and food in ten cities between New York and Oakland, California. Much like going West for gold, in fact, especially in how the journey itself transpires to be the more valuable reward. It was essentially a kinetic, modern art installation championed by one of America’s oldest, and most identified brands – an ad campaign, of course, but only technically. I must admit, much of the art was lost on yours truly, to whom the world of contemporary art is a dizzying mystery… I did although enjoy myself all the same as the world of food, is in fact a sanctuary (especially when ghost chili cucumbers are involved). All-in-all, given the similarly dizzyingly mysterious nature of waking up in Pittsburgh one September morning – like some kind of abstract performance art- I remember it all as though I had some kind of an official part in the expedition… Alas, I was no artist, and we – the motley crew (international press of all shapes and sizes) – travelled by air. My only regret is having spent too long checking if my kidneys were there and then gobbling down scrambled eggs that I didn’t allocate enough time to explore the city at all. Classic.

Huge thanks to Levi’s for allowing me to experience a small part of the Station to Station adventure.

Still knitting like a mad dame, despite recently having to bump it down to Weekend-only practice on account of absolutely no work getting done during the week. And the fluff, pink fluff everywhere. Given the tendency of my husband eating things off the floor, it’s nearly every day I hear ‘ooh, cotton candy! OH BLEURGH, WHAT THE SH*T’ in the morning. Nothing compared to me accidentally scrunching up a handful of yarn and shoving it in my mouth every single day because I too need constant validation that it is not magical cotton candy. Also, those following on Instagram may have sensed, I’m nursing a growing obsession for anything pink these days, like I woke up one day in 2014 and decided to pursue with childhood. What did you get up to this weekend?

It’s borrowed, don’t ask. I’m flattered though, that anyone would assume I have enough speech & debate skills to convince my husband, to whom Tommy Hilfiger is couture and Tom Ford is the CEO of Ford – the car company – that spending three months’ rent on a bag (a transparent one at that) is reasonable. I can’t even convince him to shower when he’s Shrek-green. My usual tactic is throwing self down in the middle of the aisle/kitchen and crying hysterically but this only seems to work up to a certain price limit, it being £40 for sock yarn. Truth is, deep inside I don’t believe we (I say we, but I mean me) are not yet in a junction in life to warrant a brand spankin’ new Chanel boy bag. I’ve always seen luxury goods as sex: the right person, the right time. Admittedly, this blog did place me in a bit of a ho-bag tangent with some of the generous gifts, I still want to work towards a stage in life where I can afford a Chanel/Hermes/LV bag without disrupting priorities. So please forgive me if, for the time being, I can be a little cheeky and seize the opportunity when the press office allows me to borrow to ‘play with’. Play we did, generally by me wearing it under a big coat and treating it like a secret, walking around town like Aladdin stealing bread: sartorial equivalent to ‘bubble-wrap it and place in safe’.

Disclaimer – this is not a sponsored post, by any means, nor do I frequently borrow items from brands to feature in this blog. On rare occasion that I do borrow, it is enclosed so readers are fully aware.